His grin widens. But the way his eyes go dark and hungry, that he can’t disguise. Oh yeah. Grant fucking wants me. And wants to fuck me, for sure.
I want to fuck him too.
Damn.
We’re treading on thin ice here. But there’s something about being this reckless that’s a relief, after all the dates I’ve been on in the city lately. Those are all dancing around the point, beating around the bush until my bush gets so tired of all the double-talk that I just give up and go to bed. At least Grant is direct. At least with him, I know exactly how much trouble I’m getting into because he tells me straight upfront.
I finish off that rib while he takes one of his own, then lay it down on the plate and reach for a napkin. On second thought, though, I pause and raise a finger to my lips. I lick the BBQ sauce off slowly, eyes locked on his, and grin as he narrows his eyes.
“But don’t get any sauce on these sheets,” I say. “We’ve only got one bed, you know.”
“You’ve only got one bed,” he points out. “Me, I’ve got a whole truck bed to myself. That one I don’t mind getting dirty either.”
My cheeks flush. “We can trade,” I say. “I’ll take my car tonight. It’s only fair.”
He snorts. “What kind of a gentleman would I be if I let the lady who nearly passed out from dehydration and exhaustion in the yard today sleep in her damn car when there’s a perfectly good bed right here.”
“Well, if you can manage not to dirty up the bed with dinner, we could…” I pause. Swallow that last word.
He raises an eyebrow. Doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t prompt me, but doesn’t change the subject, either.
I shake my head. “Just, sleep wherever tonight. It doesn’t bother me.” That said, I grab another rib and stuff it into my mouth before I say something I’ll really regret. Something like sleep with me in this bed tonight—and for the love of God, please do more than just sleep here.
Or something more his style, more direct. Something like Please fuck me right here in the middle of this delicious tray of BBQ you just cooked.
If there’s one thing sexier than a big, sexy country man who takes care of you when you’re sick, it’s a big sexy country man who takes care of you and knows how to cook a mean rib. I’ve tried grilling ribs for my friends back in the city about a million times, but none of them ever turn out right. None of them ever taste quite like home.
I’d almost forgotten what real ribs taste like, until these.
Grant, for his part, lets up on the flirting long enough to finish eating, at least. I’m still licking my fingers when he grabs the tray to whisk it off.
“Non-cook does dishes,” I call after him.
He just shouts back from the kitchen, “Lie back down.”
I groan and collapse back onto the pillows. “I’m not an invalid,” I protest. But protests aside, it doesn’t take long for my eyelids to droop. I manage to drag myself out of bed long enough to wash my face and brush my teeth, then I slink back into the room and slip under the covers. I’m out before I even remember to turn off the light.
Farming is hard work.
I wake up to a faint motion. I squint at the ceiling—the light is off now. It takes me a moment, in the moonlit farmhouse, to remember where exactly I am. It takes me even longer to realize what the faint sigh beside me means, and to recognize the presence of another warm body.
I roll over, eyes widening, to find Grant sound asleep next to me. He’s on his back, face turned away from me, but he’s fast asleep, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm.
He’s shirtless too. Only his boxers on, which I can tell because he’s lying on top of the covers instead of underneath, heat practically radiating off his body. Normally I’m cold at night, especially in this little farmhouse on the brink of fall without any indoor heating besides the wood stove in the kitchen to go by. But the room feels hot with Grant here, and not just temperature-wise.
I sit up a little. “Grant?” I whisper, softly, just to check.
Nothing. No reaction. I lie back down and continue to watch him, a flush spreading over my cheeks.
He’s fucking hot as hell.
He sighs softly and rolls over, away from me. I sit up a little, checking whether he’s woken up. But no. He’s still sound asleep. With his face relaxed in sleep, he’s even more attractive. His cheekbones stand out sharply in the moonlight, and his eyelids flutter faintly. Dreaming, I’d guess, from the way his fingertips twitch and his hips shift a little.
I trace my eyes down his bare chest, along the stark ridges of his muscles, and then I draw in a sharp breath.
Definitely dreaming. And something very, very enjoyable to judge by the way his cock stands at attention, rock hard, the big, thick outline visible even through his boxers. Tent is putting it mildly—he’s building a whole fort down there.
It doesn’t take much imagination to picture what’s under that thin fabric. I saw how big he was even when he wasn’t hard in the shower. Now, he looks like he’s got one of those novelty-store dildos in his pants, the ones that are so big you wonder if anyone could possibly have a dick that size.
What would that feel like inside me?
He’d hurt, probably, at least at first. But fuck, how good would it feel once we got going? How hard would this big country man fuck me if I let him?
Is that what he’s dreaming about right now? He talked about wanting to bend me over and fuck me in the dirt… Is he picturing doing that to me now as he sleeps? Picturing us out in the field, him tearing off my skimpy little jean shorts and stuffing that fat cock inside me?
I slide my hand down the flat plane of my stomach, toward my PJ shorts. I wore them to be decent, same with the little sleep tank top. Now I’m wishing I’d gone a bit bolder. Thong and a lace bra, maybe, or even less. Clearly Grant would’ve appreciated it.
Fuck. I shouldn’t do this. He might wake up at any moment. But I can’t help myself. Between his words earlier and how frustrated I got myself this afternoon, working out in the fields trying—and failing—not to think about how hard he’d fuck me, how good it would feel. Between that and his ministrations later, after I got sick, and how fucking sexy he looks all the damn time, and how he defended me in town when that Aaron creep came onto me…
I can’t help myself. He’s lying right here next to me having a dirty fantasy of his own, and I can’t help picturing the same thing.
I slip my hand under the hem of my shorts. Straight down the front of my tight little panties.
Fuck. I’m already wet.
I part my lips with two fingers, tracing the edges of my pussy. I imagine this is Grant’s hand, Grant touching me, feeling me, exploring. Scared of the big country man and his huge cock? His voice echoes in my mind. That cocksure grin of his. He’s Trouble with a capital T, and I know it.
That only makes me want him all the more.
He’d spread my legs and lean down along my body, that rough beard of his scratching my belly as he licked and sucked and bit his way down from my bellybutton, all the way to my mound. I swirl my fingers across my mound, my lips, grazing my clit and stifling a faint gasp as I do. I picture him yanking my panties down, grinning up at me before he leans down to kiss my pussy lips, one at a time, then running his tongue along them, slow, teasing.
He’d want to work me up first. He’d have to, to get me ready to take that big cock of his.
I press my fingers between my pussy lips, imagining his thick, rough fingers there instead. I push two fingers into my pussy at once, to imitate his thick girth. But his fingers would be even thicker, rougher. He’d waste no time curling them against my inner wall, going right for the G-spot, because he doesn’t fuck around. I imagine the hungry look in his eyes from earlier, the way he’d stare up at me as he finger-fucked me, slowly at first, then building up momentum.
I imagine this, and I shift in the bed, eyes still focused on his sexy half-naked body, his sharp muscles, the curve of his jaw, the size of his hands. I reach out and curl my free hand in the sheets just inches from his, feeling the blaze of his warmth against my skin, even with a few inches of bed still between my hand and his.
I imagine those fingers inside me, even as I stroke myself faster, bring myself closer to climax. I’ve been able to stay quiet so far, but as I near my peak, it gets harder. My mouth falls open and my hips buck a little, as hard as I try to keep them still. I inhale sharply, still stroking, faster, faster, so close to the edge, so close… I can’t quite help the soft gasp that escapes me.
At that sound, Grant rolls over to face me.
I startle and pull my fingers out of my pussy. But his eyes are wide open, and my hand is still down the front of my pants, and he’s smirking at me, one eyebrow raised.
“Don’t stop on my account,” he says, his voice low and sexy as fuck, even though the sound is startling in the otherwise silent room.
“I…” I bite my lip and slide my hand out of my pants, trying to wipe my fingers along the sheets. “It’s not…”
“You must be so close now.” Grant shifts closer. There’s barely an inch of space between us. We’re nose-to-nose, almost touching. His eyes bore into mine. “It’s got to ache to stop when you’re that close.”